Midsummer Murder
by ariel2me
Summary: Modern AU. DCI Stannis Baratheon investigates the murder of Balon Greyjoy, with his not-so-trusty sidekicks Justin Massey and Richard Horpe. Meanwhile, Balon's daughter Asha has her own secrets, and agenda.
1. Chapter 1: The Body in the Library

"Guv, you're not going to believe this! Remember that bloke we pegged for the Stark murder last year? Well, the poor chap - "

"I don't have all day, Massey," Stannis snapped in irritation. Sir. Chief Inspector. DCI Baratheon. He would have been perfectly all right with any of those. But no, Detective Sergeant Massey, late of Eton and Cambridge, just had to prove himself 'one of the lads'.

"A new case, sir. A body. Balon Greyjoy's residence." Stannis approved of DS Horpe's simple recital of facts. Blunt. Straightforward. He gave Richard Horpe a curt nod, and said pointedly to Justin Massey, "The facts. Just the facts. That's all I need, Massey."

That did not wipe the shit-eating grin off DS Massey's face. I give up, Stannis thought. Hopeless. Completely hopeless.

"But he hasn't told you, has he? DS-just-the-facts. He forgot to tell you the most important fact of all, guv," Massey said, his hand patting Horpe's shoulder. Horpe looked like he would love nothing more than to punch the owner of that hand in the face. "It's Balon Greyjoy. He's the dead guy in the library. And the whole clan is there, his children, brothers, even the estranged wife." DS Massey rubbed his hands together with glee. "I would love another try at that lot, that's for sure. Arrogant sods, all of them."

It was still unsolved, Ned Stark's murder. One of Stannis' few failures. Balon Greyjoy's brother Euron had been his alibi for the night of the murder. And his daughter Asha had acted as his solicitor during the interrogation, protesting at every line of questioning, sneering at the detectives at every turn.

"We can't expect the police to be all that bright, can we? Considering how little we pay them. Even the graduates of Oxford and Cambridge," Asha Greyjoy had said, her tone disdainful.

Damn that woman! The memory still rankled.

"Just because they were there doesn't mean one of them did it," Horpe pointed out. "He doesn't lack enemy, Balon Greyjoy."

"Get the car, Massey," Stannis ordered. Speculating was pointless, best to start the investigation as soon as possible. "Not you, Horpe," Stannis said, as DS Horpe started following Massey to the door. "I need you to check the whereabouts of Balon Greyjoy's known enemies and associates."

DS Horpe nodded swiftly. "Yes, sir," he replied, but he looked disappointed. There was a rumoured opening for Detective Inspector, and he and Massey were both vying for the position.

I'm not a camp counsellor, not my job to "buck up the troops" or worry about their self-esteem, Stannis thought crossly.

"Massey can't do it without running half-arsed after some speculation or other. Diligence, that's what I need for this task." Horpe's whole face lit up hearing that from Stannis.

DS Massey would not stop talking on the way to the crime scene. He was driving too fast, as always. And his hair was still too long. "It's regulation length, guv, I swear. You can measure it if you don't believe me," he had said, the last time Stannis had admonished him. It was certainly regulation length at the back, Stannis had measured it himself. Sadly, the rules had not mentioned anything about the front. That was an oversight that must be remedied, Stannis thought. It was absolutely ridiculous for a Scotland Yard detective to have hair resembling members of a boyband.

Not that Stannis knew anything about boybands, or pop music. But he had seen the posters often enough in his teenage daughter's room.

Shireen was not coming to stay with him this weekend. Her best friend was moving to Dublin, and she wanted to spend as much time as she could with her before the move.

You're only at my house twice a month as it is, he wanted to say. But the last time she stayed with him, he had spent most of the Saturday and half the Sunday interrogating suspects. He figured he had forfeited the right to complain. Selyse had made more of a fuss. "If you don't say anything, she's going to think that you don't care if she comes to stay with you or not. You're her father, damn it! It's your job to set some ground rules."

"And you miss her too, I'm sure," her voice softened.

Sometimes he felt like they had been more honest with each other, not to mention more charitable and understanding towards each other, in the five years since the divorce than in the entirety of their courtship and marriage.

Maybe if we had been –

No, he would not do this again. And Selyse had found someone else. She was happy. Something he had always thought she was not capable of being. We'll grow old together, Selyse and I, miserable and unhappy, but at least together, he had always believed.

Melisandre had made Selyse happy.

"Call me Mel," she had said, when Stannis was finally introduced to her. Stannis never did call her that. My wife's lover, he thought sometimes. But of course Selyse was no longer his wife by the time she met Melisandre.

"-can't be as arrogant as she was. She's a suspect now, not a bloody solicitor," Justin Massey was still rambling on and on.

"Justin."

"Guv?" Massey's face lit up, even brighter than Richard Horpe. He was grinning from ear-to-ear. It was very seldom that Stannis had called him by his first name.

"Shut up."

DS Massey was silent for the rest of the journey. Peace, at last.

Balon Greyjoy's mansion – and Stannis definitely thought of it as a mansion, for to call something that monstrously huge and ugly a house was an insult to houses everywhere – was at the end of a very long drive. Scene-of-crime officers were already on site, as well as the pathologist. One of the SOCOs collided with Stannis at the door.

"Sorry, sir," the young man said. Stannis recognized the voice. Devan. Devan Seaworth.

"I didn't know you've completed your training," Stannis said.

Devan smiled. "Just last month, sir."

"How is your … your mother?"

The smile faded. "As well as can be expected, sir."

"Devan!" Someone shouted from the SOCO van.

"I'd better go, sir. It's nice meeting you again."

"Regards to your mother, Devan."

Justin Massey was staring at Devan's retreating back. "Isn't that one of DI Seaworth's sons, guv?"

Stannis nodded curtly.

"It's a pity what happened to DI Seaworth. He was your first sergeant, wasn't he? When you first made Detective Inspector."

"We're not here to investigate my history, Massey," Stannis barked out angrily. Before Justin Massey could make a reply, however, a woman's querulous voice greeted them.

"I hope you're not planning to keep us here all day, Inspector." Asha Greyjoy's voice was full of contempt.

Anger rather than grief. Interesting, Stannis thought.

"It's Chief Inspector, actually. Detective Chief Inspector Stannis Baratheon. And you are all suspects in your father's murder. Including you, Miss Greyjoy." Stannis replied calmly.

"Really? That's news to me. I was in court when the murder happened. My mother phoned me when they found the body. Your scene-of-crime officers were already sniffing around when I got here," Asha Greyjoy countered.

Stannis glanced sharply at DS Massey, who at least had the grace to look sheepish. That's not what he had led Stannis to believe. "Well, we'll have to check your story, of course. I can't simply take your word for it," Stannis said.

"I don't suppose you ever take anyone's word for anything, Inspector," Asha Greyjoy replied, before rattling off the names and phone numbers of the people who could confirm her presence in court. DS Massey struggled to write them down in his notebook; she was talking so fast.

"Asha? Who is that? Who are you talking to?" A fearful, tremulous voice called out from the direction of the living room.

Something flitted across Asha Greyjoy's face for a brief, brief moment. Not anger this time. Worry? Fear?

"It's all right, Mother. It's only the detectives."

"I'll speak with your mother first, Miss Greyjoy. If you would be so kind to let her know? We'll wait for her in the dining room." Stannis said, as politely as he could manage with this woman.

Stannis had the distinct impression that Asha Greyjoy did not like that one bit. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something in protest, but something made her change her mind.

"Very well, Inspector," she replied tersely.


	2. Chapter 2: Her Father's Sons

Why does it have to be him? Asha lamented. Of all the detectives at the Yard, why did they have to send DCI Stannis Baratheon? The man had harassed her father endlessly while investigating Ned Stark's murder. Wasn't it a breach of protocol to have him investigating her father's murder now?

DCI Baratheon would not do. He would not do at all. The man saw too much. She must speak to his superior. As a solicitor, not just as the victim's daughter. Threaten to kick up a fuss, to go to the press if she has to. She must do that.

Her father, a victim. Her father, murdered. Her father, dead. No! Stop. She did not have time to grieve. Not yet. Not now.

Asha was the strong one, the one her father could always count on. That's what Balon Greyjoy had often said. To Theon, especially.

"You don't understand! How could you? He loves you. He loves you and wishes that you're his only remaining son, not me. I am no one! Nobody! Not to him, not to the world," Theon had screamed and shouted, during one of his drunken rages.

How do you think it makes me feel, Father wishing I am his son? Not a daughter, but a son. He might have hated you, but he hated the fact that I don't have what you have between your legs a whole lot more.

What Theon had, Asha automatically amended in her head.

She did not want to think of Theon now. There was time for that later. Priorities. She needed to keep her priorities straight.

Three voices struggled for dominance in the living room. Even her mother's voice. Her mother who had sounded so helpless and terrified in front of the detectives earlier, her voice was the loudest now. "No!" She batted away Vic's hand. "I will not stand by and do nothing. No. Not this time!" It was to Euron she was shouting, not Vic.

Theon was passed out on the sofa, oblivious to all the shouting.

"They can hear you, you know. The police," Asha said sharply.

Euron raised one eyebrow, the one over his good eye. "The library is all the way on the other side of the house. And your father built a really big house," he smirked.

She hated him looking at her.

"The detectives would like to speak to all of us. In the dining room." Which is not on the other side of the house, Asha knew she did not have to point out.

"All of us? Together?" Vic sounded sceptical.

She hated Vic looking at her too. She imagined clawing their eyes out, her two uncles. She relished the thought. How satisfying it would be. How relieved it would make her, finally.

You can't look at me anymore. Not ever.

"No, not all of us together, of course," Asha replied, her voice calm and steady. You will never know how much I despise you both. "Mother, they want to speak with you first." Her mother had been the one to find the body.

The body. The body in the library. It was like something out of an Agatha Christie mystery. Asha had to stifle a sudden urge to laugh.

Her mother was back to looking scared and helpless. "Asha? Will you come with me, dearie?"

Asha had been planning to do that in any case. "Of course, Mother," she said, with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Which was the act, and which was the real woman? The angry, defiant one Alannys Greyjoy had been to Euron and Vic earlier, or this nervous woman afraid of her own shadow? Asha could not tell anymore, her mother as much an incomprehensible void to Asha as her two dead brothers. Her brothers were truly gone, body and soul. Her mother's body was still here, moving, breathing, talking, but in truth, she had departed the scene years and years ago. Asha had blinked for a moment, only a brief moment, and her mother was gone.

And who could blame her? After … everything.

Asha patted her mother's hand. "We should not keep them waiting," she said.

Her mother took a deep breath. "Well! I'll just tell them the truth. There's nothing to be afraid of, I haven't done anything wrong," she smiled at Asha, linking her fragile and fleshless fingers with Asha's own.

Haven't you, Mother?

She used to run barefoot on the snow, in the middle of freezing winter, looking for her sons. Asha had not forgotten that. She never would, or could, not if she lived to be a hundred. "They're here! I know they are. They're just lost. Or hiding somewhere. You know how they are, Rodrik and Maron. Naughty boys. Where are you, my naughty, naughty boys? Come to mummy. I won't be cross, I promise. It's late, you must eat your supper now. Rodrik? Maron? Where are you?"

Rodrik and Maron had not been boys for years when they died. They had stopped calling her 'mummy' for much longer than that.

Her mother's lost boys. Theon was one of Alannys' lost boys too, now. Alive, but wishing that he was dead. A walking corpse. He, too, had departed the scene, months and months ago.

Asha was not lost, she was never lost. She always knew her way, had always found her way back home, somehow.

There were times she wished she hadn't.

The dining room was empty when Asha and her mother got there. There was no sign of DCI Baratheon, or his sergeant with the wind-tossed blond hair. Asha paced the room impatiently, cursing them both under her breath. Immediately, he had said, as if challenging Asha to hesitate, to show fear. She had done neither, Asha was certain.

"I expect he's inspecting the crime scene. The detective. That's what they're supposed to do first, isn't it? The police. Before they start interrogating the suspects," Asha's mother said, her voice toneless, as if she was merely reciting some random factoid completely unrelated to their current situation.

"You're not a suspect, Mother. Only a witness," Asha said, as gently as she could.

"Why are you here, Mrs Greyjoy? In this house. This hasn't been your residence for years, hasn't it?" DCI Baratheon barked out the question before he was even seated. The sergeant was not with him, probably assigned some trivial task somewhere else. He did not seem like a team player, Stannis Baratheon, Asha had gathered from her previous encounter with the man. He seemed like a man who did not trust anyone except himself to do a job right.

Asha was a team player. She was such a good team player she made herself sick at times, thinking about it.

"My father invited her. For-"

He interrupted Asha, rudely. "I don't remember asking you the question, Miss Greyjoy. I was asking your mother. Mrs Greyjoy, I'll ask you again, why-"

Asha returned the favour, and interrupted before he could finish asking the question. "It's Ms, actually, Inspector, not Miss. I believe I've told you this before, when you were harassing my father."

Asha could hear the man's teeth grinding from side to side. His dentist must be making a packet.

"Chief Inspector. Not Inspector, Ms Greyjoy." He spitted out the words with contempt. "Now, Mrs Greyjoy, what were you doing in your estranged husband's home on the very day he found himself conveniently murdered?"

"Hold on! That is a very prejudicial-"

"We are not in court, Ms Greyjoy. And you are not a barrister, merely a solicitor."

They were talking over each other, each trying to gain the upper hand. The sergeant with the ridiculous hair broke the impasse when he dashed into the room suddenly, shouting excitedly, "Guv! We've found it! The murder weapon."

Asha managed to catch her mother before she hit the floor.


	3. Chapter 3: The Smiling Detective

Justin Massey took care to keep his mouth firmly shut on the drive back to the station. He was not about to make the same mistake he did on the way over, talking too much in front of Stannis. The boss was seething, his fury simmering just below the surface. One wrong word, and Justin knew he would the unlucky recipient of a major telling-off.

Not that the guv's face looked all that different, angry or not angry, Justin thought, as he glanced furtively at the man sitting next to him. The mouth was frowning, true, but Stannis Baratheon's mouth was always frowning.

"Watch out for that lorry!" Justin was startled out of his contemplation by Stannis' angry voice. The lorry was nowhere near to hitting the car! Yelling was a massive overreaction.

"Are you that tired of living, Massey?" The boss was asking scornfully. "Planning to join Balon Greyjoy in his sojourn? In your own time, Massey. In your own time. I have no wish to die yet."

"Sorry, guv," Justin replied, wincing. Silence returned to the car. Stannis was adamant about not putting on music while driving, not even something soothing and relaxing.

He's not even the one doing the driving, Justin grumbled silently. What's wrong with a bit of Coldplay?

"Well?" Stannis was staring intently at Justin.

What does he mean, "well"? You need a translator to understand him, you really do.

"Err, sorry guv?" Was this about the case, or about his driving? Justin could not tell.

Stannis sighed heavily. "Don't you have anything to say about the case, Massey? You wouldn't shut up on the way to the crime scene, when we knew nothing yet about the crime. But now that we've seen the body and the crime scene, and talked to the people who were there, suddenly you don't have anything to say?"

Justin was cursing himself. This always happened to him, always. Not just with Stannis, but with other people as well. Overcompensating, a former girlfriend had told him. Too damn eager to please, Justin, that's your problem.

That, and the fact that he had cheated on her. With her sister. Twin sister, in fact.

Maggie and Peggy. They were not identical twins, alas.

"Oy! Are you listening, DS Massey?" Stannis was fast losing his patience.

What was the boss asking? Oh yes, about the case. "The wife was acting very suspicious, I thought. Fainted when she heard of the murder weapon?" Justin scoffed. "Was she acting, do you reckon, guv? Trying to get away from answering our questions, so she'd have time to cook up some story or other. With that daughter of hers helping, I'm sure."

Asha Greyjoy that arrogant bloody solicitor had somehow arranged for the family doctor to come to the house to see her mother within minutes of her fainting. By the time Stannis and Justin came back from inspecting the murder weapon and the spot it was found, the doctor had forbidden them from talking to his "patient."

"You will have to wait, Chief Inspector. Mrs Greyjoy is not in any condition to answer your questions at this moment. Her health is very precarious as it is, and the shock does not help," the doctor had said firmly, staring with disgust at Stannis and Justin as if they were responsible for the poor state of Alannys Greyjoy's health. Justin was outraged.

The guv only had time to ask her the one question, and she didn't even bother answering.

But that was their lot, Justin knew, people found it easier to blame the coppers for everything.

"What a waste. After all the money we've spent sending you to the best schools and the best university. Money the family can't really afford, in case you've forgotten, Justin. A detective? A solicitor is bad enough, not good enough to cut it as a barrister, people will whisper, but a detective? How can I show my face at the club now?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way, pater," Justin had replied blithely to his father's scorn.

After all, you managed to show your face at the club just fine after that scandal with your 22-year-old secretary.

The unfortunate incident, Justin's mother had insisted on calling it. His parents were still married and living in the same house, thirty five years and counting. Justin had given up wondering why.

"What exactly is wrong with Mrs Greyjoy, do you mind telling us, doctor?" Stannis had asked the doctor at Balon Greyjoy's house.

The doctor looked mightily offended. "I do mind, Chief Inspector. Doctor-patient confidentiality, I'm sure you've heard of that, a man of your rank."

"So we're just supposed to take your word for it, then? That she's not fit to answer questions. But you won't tell us what's wrong with her," Justin interrupted. The arrogant doctor was getting on his nerves. In fact, everyone in this house was getting on his nerves. Too bloody arrogant, for starters. They acted as if they owned the world, just because Balon Greyjoy had made a packet being a slumlord and lending money with exorbitant interest rates.

"You can't help being a snob, Justin," Richard Horpe had said with derision, the last time their path had crossed with the Greyjoy clan, during the Ned Stark murder investigation.

"A snob?! Me? They're the ones living it up in a huge mansion, driving Jaguars and Ferraris, not me," Justin had replied, incredulous.

"But their money's not as old as your family's, right? Remind me again which century your ancestor was made an Earl? 16th? 17th? Balon Greyjoy made his money the old-fashion way. He didn't simply inherit it, unlike some people," Horpe had replied, without even the courtesy of looking Justin in the eye.

There's nothing left to bloody inherit in my family, you bloody sod! Except for a badly-heated crumbling old house his father should have sold a long time ago. But Justin's father did not want to be the Massey remembered for selling off the last of the family silver.

Justin smiled, and patted Horpe's back. He knew how much Horpe loathed being touched. Even by a woman, Justin suspected. Horpe lived only for the job. He had scant else in his life, no friends, certainly no girlfriend that Justin knew of. Horpe was worse than the boss in that regard. At least Stannis was married once. And Stannis and his daughter did not seem to get along too badly, the few times Justin had seen them together.

"Balon Greyjoy made his money the old-fashion way, all right. Extorting and stealing," Justin said. To his surprise, Horpe actually laughed. "The man's a crook all right, and he'll get his comeuppance one of these days, I'm sure," Horpe replied with venom.

If you hate him that much, what was that all about then, earlier? Calling me a snob for not liking papa Greyjoy and his clan.

Obviously just to irritate and needle him, Justin realized. They've been doing this dance for a while now, him and Horpy, ever since Justin was assigned to DCI Stannis' team. Horpe had already been there for almost a year when Justin came, and he had fancied himself as Stannis' right hand man on the team.

Not bloody likely, Justin snorted.

"Something you want to share, Massey?" Stannis was asking. Justin suddenly remembered where he was. In the car, on the way back to the station, with the boss.

Had Stannis replied to his question about Balon Greyjoy's wife fainting? This was awkward, really awkward. Justin didn't dare ask the question again, in case Stannis had already made his reply and Justin had missed it because he was too busy thinking of his feud with Richard Horpe. But missing Stannis' answer could also mean disaster. For Justin. Even for the case, perhaps. Justin was cracking his head trying to figure out a way to finesse the situation. But the summer heat, combined with the oppressive atmosphere in the car with the boss sitting so close – judging, evaluating, constantly judging and evaluating – had shut his brain down.

Maybe Father was right. I should have been a barrister.

With his luck though, if he had chosen that path, Stannis would probably be the judge Justin encountered on a regular basis. The thought of Stannis wearing a gown and a wig was quite entertaining, however. Photoshop, Justin thought. Thank the heavens for Photoshop.

"I don't think she was faking it. Mrs Greyjoy. No, it was genuine enough, I should think. But why she fainted is a more interesting question," Stannis was saying. So Justin had not missed his reply after all.

Thank you god! Justin prayed. He resolved to attend Sunday service the next time he visited the family home. His mother was always lecturing him about missing the service on his infrequent visits home.

"I don't give two hoots about god either, Justin. But the village expects us to attend. It's our duty to the parish."

"To sit there and look bored?"

"To show our face, as the preeminent family in the parish. I know young people these days don't care a whit about duty, but I was raised to always do my duty," his mother had replied firmly. There were times when Stannis Baratheon strongly reminded Justin of his own mother. He wondered what it would be like, should the two of them meet.

"Mother, this is Chief Inspector Stannis Baratheon. My immediate superior. My mother, sir. Lady Justine Massey." Justin imagined introducing them, in the living room of the Massey family home, the only part of the house still adequately furnished and adequately heated in winter. Because appearances must be maintained with outsiders, no matter how broke the family was now.

With my luck, they'll probably get on like a house on fire, complaining about all the ways I'm a disappointment and a sore trial to them both.

"Do you think she was faking it?" Stannis was asking Justin.

Stannis was talking about Mrs Greyjoy, Justin had to remind himself. Not Lady Massey.

Justin shook his head. "Didn't seem like it, guv. And her daughter was truly worried, that was the first time I saw any genuine emotion on Asha Greyjoy's face. She's a cool customer, that one. Didn't seem like she lost too many tears for dear old Dad, did she?" Stannis and Justin had spoken to the other Greyjoys – Asha, Balon's two brothers, and the son who was still in a drunken stupor. All of them professed complete bafflement about the crime.

Liars, all of them, Justin thought, as he was parking the car.

"You're taking up space from the next spot, Massey," Stannis said with irritation. "How hard is it to stay within the white lines?"

Oh for the love of god! The boss was brilliant, the most brilliant detective Justin had ever worked for, in fact. But there were times when Justin felt like strangling him.

Richard Horpe was waiting in Stannis' office, waving a piece of paper in his hand, looking as excited as Horpe could ever look. Stannis made his way to his office. Justin sat down at his cubicle, sighing deeply.

"Why, what's this? Gloomy Justin? What's troubling you, my white knight?" Arianne's voice. No, not Arianne, Detective Sergeant Martell. He had promised himself to call her that, and only that. Not Arianne. Not anymore. Not ever.

"Don't call me that," he replied automatically. He was not in the mood for one of her jokes right now. Arianne pretended to look hurt.

"Massey! My office, now." Stannis was calling for him. Justin breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe his luck was changing after all. He was smiling and whistling as he made his way to Stannis' office.


End file.
